Shift
by ChelsieSouloftheAbbey
Summary: A honeymoon fic, in which Elsie and Charles realize what it means to finally come HOME. "They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered." -F. Scott Fitzgerald


**A/N: So .. this is me, showing up late to the honeymoon party. I never had a plan to do a honeymoon fic at all as there already are so many wonderful ones out there. But then I got a little nugget of an idea, and twisted it around a bit, and - hell - it's Valentine's Day. So, this happened. And it's LONG and I'm sorry, but I saw no point in breaking it down into tiny chapters.**

 **Shout-out to my girl dibdab4 for reading this through and encouraging me to actually publish it. :) MWAH!**

 **Rated M for ... well.**

 **xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

" _ **They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered."**_

 _ **\- F. Scott Fitzgerald**_

 _ **May 16 - Scarborough**_

Elsie Carson - née _Hughes_ \- hadn't expected any of the events which had taken place over the last few hours. She'd been woken this morning, had been brought breakfast in bed, had been given tea. She'd been grateful for it all, particularly the tea, _most_ welcome after hours spent tossing and turning her way through the last night in her room in the attics. She'd been primped, made up, dressed, and even gifted. She'd been married, kissed, toasted, congratulated … loved. Those things she _had_ expected, in some small way. To be sure, the appearance of Mr. Branson and Miss Sybbie had been the icing on the cake - she'd not expected them _at all,_ but the rest of the day had gone pretty much as she'd imagined.

But then her hand had been in _his_ , and he'd breathed a whisper into her ear. She hadn't known he _could_ whisper, not really. When his breath sent the hair escaping from her carefully-coiffed arrangement brushing against her neck, it had tickled; she'd smiled, then flushed as she realized he'd been staring at her. Staring, and evidently expecting some kind of reply.

"I'm sorry?" she'd managed, and he'd smiled at her with that new look in his eyes, the thing that had shown up that day when he'd first kissed her in his pantry, that thing which had remained present ever since. She dared not identify it quite yet, not with a word, but she _was_ fairly certain she knew what it was. It had blown her away the first time she'd seen it, and she'd wondered if it had just been a reflection of the emotion that must have been dancing in her _own_ eyes. But, no, it had been there every day since as well, and she found she relished seeing it much more than she'd ever expected to. It was a small part of him that would only ever be noticed by her, and now - as his wife - she had every right to appreciate it.

"Shall we go?" Charles had repeated, and she'd flashed him her most brilliant smile and nodded. They'd made the rounds, taking their leave of the family first and then the rest of the guests, an extra moment to check in with Miss Baxter and with Anna for her, a chat with Mr. Barrow for him; they'd climbed into the car provided by his Lordship and had departed, chased by the sounds of everyone's cheers and well-wishes until they'd crested the hill on their way to catch the train.

That had all been expected - planned. It had been like any other wedding, really; nothing was out of the ordinary, and everything had been executed smoothly.

 _Of course it had,_ she chided herself. _You planned it yourself._

But from the moment she'd taken his hand in the back seat of the car, she'd felt her entire world shift ever so slightly. Suddenly what she'd _expected_ and what she'd _planned_ became nothing compared to the prospect of things she'd barely allowed herself to _imagine._

"Elsie?" he asked, his voice a rumble in her ear. "Are you alright?"

She looked up at him and nodded. "Yes, never better."

Charles looked her in the eyes, examined them until he found the one thing he was looking for, and nodded, squeezing her hand and placing it upon his knee as he hummed a reply.

* * *

The train was full, and they were forced to sit side-by-side as opposed to across from one another as they normally would have done. Neither minded, and Elsie found that there was some satisfaction in how their thighs were touching, in how she didn't need to _worry_ about that any longer. Charles relished in the warmth emanating from her arm as it rested against his own and he found his mind wandering, wondering if she would be that warm when her arms rested against his with far fewer layers of protection between them. He sputtered for a moment, and Elsie turned to him quickly, concerned.

"It's nothing," he said, flushing.

She watched him extra carefully, just to be sure.

 _Foolish! You're being foolish,_ she told herself. _He's fine!_

She dozed off a little while later, and she woke to find her head resting against his arm. She sat up quickly, mortified, before remembering it would be alright, that the ring on her finger ensured it.

"Hello there," he mumbled, a smile in his voice. "Sleep well?"

"Better than last night," she admitted. "Where are we?"

"Just approaching the station in Scarborough. Your timing is perfect."

She stretched her neck, forcing it against the tightness that came from sleeping in an awkward position.

He watched her, wishing they were alone already so that he could gently rub her neck, her shoulders, and feel her tension dissipate underneath his large, yet gentle, hands.

 _Soon,_ he promised himself.

"Soon?" she asked, her eyebrow raised and a smile playing about her lips, and he realized he'd spoken aloud.

His mouth opened, but he couldn't make any sound come out. He was painfully aware of their surroundings - the slowing of the train, people all around them gathering baskets and bags and children in hand - and snapped his jaw shut, allowing the tip of his tongue to moisten his lips before replying.

"Soon," he repeated, a plea in his eyes, and she understood and reached over to squeeze his forearm as she nodded. The tension between them could have been cut with a knife, yet it was joined by a sense of anticipation, like something electric that had been building for months.

"Soon," she whispered. "And thank God for that," she added with a knowing smirk, enjoying his smile as he digested the words.

"Indeed."

The train came to a full stop and they alighted, each taking a bag in hand before he arranged transport directly to the inn. The sun was beginning its descent but hadn't gotten terribly far.

"How long until we get there, do you think?" she asked, her cheeks flushing as she realized how her question could be misconstrued, almost wanton in its wording. His wide eyes confirmed her fears, and she quickly added, "I think I'd fancy a walk on the beach, if you like."

 _The beach. Of course … hand in hand._ "I would," he rumbled, "very much." He leaned in closer. "And it costs me nothing to say it."

She snapped her head up to look at him, the sound of the automobile's engine dying away as the blood rushed to her ears. "What makes you say that?" she asked in a whisper.

He looked afraid then, regretful, wondering if he'd made some horrible mistake in his thinking, his over-pondering of _when,_ exactly, it was that their friendship had begun to shift.

"How did you know?" she added, and watched as he visibly calmed before her and straightened his posture ever so slightly.

"I didn't," he admitted, "but I guessed. _Wondered,_ perhaps … dared to, anyhow. It was your eyes, the look in them in that moment. Something … changed, I suppose."

She nodded, humming in reply, and clasped his fingers in her hand. She glanced up at the driver, who was paying them no attention whatsoever as he navigated the thick traffic of the road, and she lifted her man's fingers to her lips, dropping the gentlest of kisses to his knuckles before lowering them once again.

"That it did. I couldn't have borne it, you know," she whispered, her eyes filling with emotions long-since buried.

"Well, now you'll never have to worry," he said, and she smiled tightly and nodded, banishing those particular emotions forever.

The car pulled up in front of the inn and Elsie watched as he paid the driver.

"The beach, then?"

She nodded, and followed her husband - _husband!_ \- as he brought their suitcases into the inn and signed the register with a flourish, pausing infinitesimally before scribbling the _Mrs._ next to his - _their_ \- surname. He turned and caught a pretty smile on her lips, that familiar _thing_ in their eyes noticeable once more.

"Shall we?" he asked, offering his elbow, and she nodded and took it.

The sea air was salty, the spray itself almost reaching them with the rapid changing of the tide and the breeze that had not been quite as noticeable on the other side of the inn. She shivered involuntarily and he moved his arm, encircling her shoulders with it as he stopped walking. She opened her mouth to say something, having taken note of the few other people who were milling about further down on the sand, but closed her lips forcefully. There was nothing improper, nothing untoward, about a husband warming his wife against the chill of the sea breeze.

"A bit cooler this time around," he said, and she laughed, the light, twinkling sound of it soaring into his heart. He backed his head away from her a bit, enabling himself to take in the full picture of her face; wisps of her hair were escaping the carefully-pinned arrangement that still remained hidden to him beneath her hat, her cheeks were flushed, her lips red and full … and her _eyes_. Her eyes were positively _dancing._

"It is," she answered, "but I'm glad of it." She bit down on her lip as he raised his eyebrow, each of them sharing a flicker of a memory, of the last time she'd let slip something rather risqué on the beach.

"As am I."

He moved a bit further away from her and clasped her hand, each of them having decided without speaking to turn back toward the inn, where dinner and … other things … awaited.

* * *

She stood by the window, having cracked it open an inch or so to let the cool air in. She'd found the room stuffy when they finally made it upstairs and had shot her husband a questioning look, but he'd only nodded, appreciating as always the attention she paid to her surroundings.

"Shall I?" he asked, indicating her coat.

She laughed lightly and rolled her eyes, wondering how she could have forgotten she'd even been wearing it. "Please," she demurred, and turned.

His fingertips brushed the back of her neck slightly as he lifted the velvet from her shoulders; she felt a tremble in his touch which she incorrectly attributed to nerves on his part. As he drew the fabric off her back and placed it on the hanger, a touch of her scent - some mixture of lavender, vanilla, and _her_ \- wafted toward him, and he took a deep, steadying breath. She turned toward him again, catching his glance with something unidentifiable on her face, and he moved to hang the coat as she looked in the mirror and unpinned her hat. He held out his hand and took it from her, and she mumbled her thanks.

Returning to their bags, she stopped short. She didn't want to appear rushed, impatient, and yet she couldn't wait to be out of her wedding attire, feeling a need to be freed of the corset, to wash, and to unpin her hair from its unfamiliar arrangement.

"Here, allow me," he said, lifting her bag onto the bed and unbuckling the straps. She smiled and nodded in thanks, then lifted the lid to remove the items she required.

"Do you mind?" she asked, motioning toward the en-suite bath, and he shook his head.

"No, of course not," he murmured, flushing slightly as he realized she'd be returning moments later slightly less clothed than she was at the moment.

He moved aside so she could pass by him, then lifted his own valise onto the bed. His eyes flickered over toward hers and he wondered if he should unpack them both. Steeling himself, he reached over and lifted the lid of hers with his finger, only to let it snap shut again as he glimpsed bits of feminine cotton, satin, and lace that were poking out amongst the blouses and skirts with which he was somewhat more familiar.

"Everything alright?" she called from the next room, having heard the noise but having been unable to identify it.

"Just fine," he managed. He quickly returned to his own suitcase, removing his Sunday suit and one other and hanging them, brushing out the faint wrinkles that had appeared during travel. He extracted his new pajamas, hoping she would approve of the softer fabric and then wondering what on earth he'd been thinking - she'd certainly never _felt_ the old ones, not really. But it had mattered to him a great deal to spend their honeymoon in something new, something different than what he'd been wearing on other nights, times in their past that had been tinged with sadness, death, illness, and the fear produced by the dreadful fire.

The click of the knob drew his attention and his head snapped up from the now empty valise, his breath temporarily escaping him in a gasp of wonder. She stood before him, and his first inane thought was that he couldn't _see_ her, not properly, because of the bundle of dress and other items now clutched to her torso. He almost reached his arms out to relieve her of her bundle, then realized the idiocy of that thought. Turning back to his valise he closed the lid, buckled the strap, and slid it beside the wardrobe. He returned to the bed and gathered up his own things, noticing she'd not moved an inch, but had rather been watching his every move.

"Are you … ?" he asked hesitantly, indicating the bath with a flick of his head.

"Oh, y- yes, of course," she stammered, stepping aside so that he could pass. The edge of his arm brushed her shoulder on his way by, and his ears picked up on the catch in her breath.

 _Really, Elsie, get control of yourself!_ She shook her head in a feeble attempt to clear it, the knowledge of what was about to happen in this room suddenly shockingly clear. Moving over to the wardrobe she hung her dress, then folded her corset and tucked it away on the shelf. She emptied her own suitcase and placed it beside his, smiling at the domesticity of it all: her bag beside his, her diminutive shoes next to his much larger ones, and their clothing hanging side-by-side on the rod. She closed the door to the wardrobe gently, drew the sash of her new dressing gown around her waist, and made her way back to the window.

She stood and stared out, mesmerized by the play of the now-setting sun on the water, the sound of the surf fainter than she'd expected despite their proximity to the very beach on which they'd recently strolled. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the salt and the beach and the soap with which she'd just washed. The breeze blew in, fluttering the satin of her new gown and robe, the purchase of which having been the only indulgence she'd allowed herself for her wedding, the soft fabric and detailed embroidery much finer than anything she'd owned in the past. She spared another moment's regret for the dress, then banished the thought forever as she remembered the look on his face as his eyes had raked over her form at the front of the church, his appraising look unable to be misconstrued in any way.

She didn't hear him exit the en-suite, was lost in her thoughts as he carefully and quietly laid his clothing on the chair by the door. It was unheard of him to do so, to not attend to them properly, but he found himself so drawn in by the heavenly vision of his wife standing by the open window, staring off into the night. He crept over to her quietly, the moonlight glinting off of her hair, still arranged in its style from earlier, something about which he wondered until he managed to figure it out: he'd been dreaming of taking it down, slowly … she must have known, must have anticipated that small, seemingly insignificant thing. It made him pause. He'd spent these several past weeks thinking _he'd_ be the one leading _her_ carefully through this night, knowing full well he had precious little more experience in these matters than she had, yet having felt a responsibility to attend to her needs with the utmost care. The moment he spotted her hair, still twisted and held by an unknown amount of pins, he realized that surely she, too, would be leading _him,_ encouraging him in small ways.

And still she did not turn, did not stir at all. He heard a soft sigh escape her lips and he moved up behind her, saw her body stiffen minutely as she became aware of his presence.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she murmured, staring out over the rippling of the ocean.

He saw the reflection of the moonlight in her eyes and smiled. Lifting his hand to her shoulder, he leaned in and placed the gentlest of kisses to her hair.

"It is," he agreed, closing the gap between their bodies and placing his other hand on her hip.

"Charles," she whispered, leaning back against him. It wasn't a question, asked nothing at all; it was merely a statement of fact, an acknowledgement of his sure, solid presence behind her, supporting her as he always had, steadying her existence with his own.

"You've left your hair up," he whispered. "Did you do that for me?"

She smiled, a bit shocked by the feeling of desire that his whisper had placed in her abdomen. "As it so happens, I did." She reached for his hand, the one currently residing on her shoulder, and guided it to the pins that held her plaited tresses in place. "Here," she encouraged him, and he felt the pin in question, removing it slowly and backing away slightly as the braid cascaded down her back before him.

"Ohh, it's longer than it seems," he said, and she laughed softly.

"It is," she agreed, leaning her head forward to allow him easier access to the rest.

The removal of each pin was like the unlocking of something secret, something only he would ever experience. He refused to rush it, savoring the experience and trying valiantly to commit it to memory, wanting very much to require no further instruction in the future. As they came out one by one, he set the pins aside on the nightstand.

"I think that's the last of them," she said after some time, and she shook her head a bit to loosen the waves.

He lifted his hands and separated the locks, running his fingers through them as he smoothed the waves out against her back.

"Like silk," he murmured, his gaze traveling from the crown of her head to her lower back, where the ends of her hair reached, and back again. "I always wondered."

He saw her smile in the reflection of the glass, saw how the deep sigh she let out fogged the glass for a brief moment before the smokiness of it vanished once again.

"That feels wonderful," she purred, finding herself past the point of being concerned that he'd find her tone … inappropriate. They were here, after all, the vestiges of their professional existence shed at last. There was no protection from the livery, the high neckline, the corset, the job.

His thoughts flickered back to the train, to the stiffness she'd felt in her neck, and he watched as his hands traveled to her shoulders as though of their own volition; he squeezed and massaged the tension from her muscles, tension built - as he well knew - from anticipation as well as from fatigue.

The moan that escaped her mouth surprised them both, and she felt herself blush as she heard his breath hitch.

He continued his ministrations, squeezing her shoulders as his fingertips brushed her collarbone, his thumbs removing the tightness from her back and neck, and she marveled for not the first time at how hands so strong could be as gentle as a feather, how his fingers seemed to be perfectly attuned to the right amount of pressure needed for whatever the task to which he'd committed himself ...

 _Oh,_ she realized with a start. _Oh … oh, my._ And, suddenly, that feeling that had settled in her abdomen spread, and she had to tighten her grasp on the window frame as the realization of it all exploded in her mind.

"Elsie?" he murmured. "Are you alright?"

She swallowed and nodded, taking a deep, steadying breath. And then, as if he'd been able to will it from the very depths of his mind, her head lolled to one side.

He saw the beautiful expanse of pale skin before him, skin he would later discover was dotted with the faintest of freckles, and his lips crashed down upon it as he wrapped his arm around her waist. Her surprised gasp blended into yet another moan; if he'd had any plan up to that point of keeping a hold on his sanity, it was lost forever to the enchanting sounds she was making.

The touch of his lips on her neck ignited something within her, flaming the fire once again, and she reached her hand back, resting it on the nape of his neck as she pressed firmly with her fingers - not to push him away, but to draw him impossibly closer. She felt her fingers carding through his hair and was grateful for the firm grasp he had on her waist, knowing that, otherwise, this would have been the point at which she'd surely have collapsed in a heap on the floor.

She pushed back from the window, back into his body, against - _ohh._ He backed away and loosened his grip on her waist just enough so that she could turn in his arms, her hands landing on his chest as she caught her breath.

"They're new," she said foolishly, looking at the deep blue color of his pajamas.

He watched as she drew the tip of her tongue over her lips, and he nodded. "So are these," he replied, sliding his finger underneath the sash of her dressing gown. Her brilliant smile was almost his undoing.

"Well," she demurred, her fingers now occupied with unbuttoning the top of his pajama top, "a bride _should_ have something new for her wedding night, should she not?"

"Absolutely," he replied, his breath rasping as he felt her fingernails glide over the skin on his chest. "I find myself looking forward to a variety of _new_ things this evening."

Her eyes met his, and she was shocked by the change in color she spotted there. His lovely eyes, always some smoky combination of brown tinged with grey, were now positively black with desire. She could tell from the look that crossed his face that hers must be the same.

Her hands moved up of their own accord, her fingers brushing the sides of his cheeks, his temples, the concentrated furrow of his brow, her thumbs brushing over his lips and unintentionally meeting the tip of his tongue as he moistened them. The warm, wet sensation was shocking, and it was only by some small miracle that she managed to stay present in the moment. She grasped his head with her hands and drew his face down to hers.

She'd expected his lips to come crashing down onto her own, and it caused her to pause when that didn't happen. Instead he'd held back, kissing her with the utmost gentility as he had the very first time their lips had met. She relaxed, smiled into the kiss, and pressed slightly harder into him.

He wasn't sure how he managed to have any restraint at all once she had turned around and faced him. His eyes had flickered to her chest, to the _amount_ of it that was visible above the lace trim of her nightdress. He had marveled at how the dressing gown itself had almost fallen open, despite the fact that it was tied at her waist, and he had attributed it to the softness of the pale blue silk of which it was constructed.

And then she was touching him, caressing his face, his head, and pulling his face down to hers. And, really, who was he to argue?

He allowed his lips to brush over hers gently, afraid to rush her and frighten her with the depth of the passion he felt building inside of him and yet, in some small part in the back of his mind, he was beginning to realize that his passion was only being matched by her own. He allowed his lips to part and felt the tip of her tongue sweep inside. He gasped, feeling as though he were taking her own breath into his mouth - and realizing that he was, indeed, doing just that.

He allowed his own tongue to caress hers, moved his hands to the small of her back as he pulled her body toward his, impossibly closer, realizing as he felt her press against him again that if she'd not been aware of the depth of his passion and attraction before, she couldn't help but be aware of it now.

The moan he emitted into her mouth caused her to flush with anticipation. She broke away from his kiss, backed away from his body, and willed her eyes not to flicker down to what she'd felt pressing against her abdomen. She reached her now-trembling hands forward to continue undoing the buttons of his shirt, then slid her hands over his expansive, muscular chest as she pushed the satin off of his body and allowed it to cascade down to the floor. She smiled at him, a small upturn of her mouth, and he moved his hands to her waist, slid his fingers under the sash of her dressing gown once more, and loosened the tie. He watched as she reached up and removed it from her shoulders, followed the fabric with his eyes as she tossed it carelessly to the floor. He looked back to her face and saw in her eyes that she was seeking some sort of approval, an indication that she would be just as enticing to him uncovered as she'd been when hidden beneath the spare silk.

She watched as his eyes caressed her body, saw the look of wonder as he took note of the floral embroidery of the fabric resting on her bosom. She saw his lips part, heard the way in which his breath had changed, and allowed herself a sigh of relief. She returned her hands to his torso, rubbing them over this chest and shoulders, comforted by the slight lack of firmness in certain spots, a sign of his age that mimicked what he'd soon discover on her own body.

"I need to sit, I think," he said suddenly, and she smirked at him, grasping her lip between her teeth once again as she pushed him gently backward.

The minute he sat on the edge of the bed his legs spread apart and she stepped between them. She draped her arms over his shoulders and he buried his head in her abdomen, his hot breath fluttering the fabric and causing her to melt in his arms. He brushed his lips over the silk, looking up and seeing her head lolled back, her eyes closed as she tried to control her racing heartbeat, and he took a chance. Moving away from her midsection, he stretched his head up just that little bit more and wrapped his lips around the taut nipple peeking out at him from underneath the floral embroidery.

Her loud gasp caused him to smile, and any worry he'd had was gone the instant he felt her fingernails dig into the back of his neck, the instant he felt her head snap back up, the instant he felt her pull his head in impossibly closer, encouraging him to stay exactly where he was.

"Oh, God," she whispered, feeling a flood of warmth appear in that most secreted away of places. She curled the fingers of her other hand into his shoulder, vaguely aware that her sharp fingernails might be hurting him but unable to relax her hand.

His lips flitted to her other breast, and she was lost again. It was only when she started trembling that he drew his head back, the glassy appearance of his eyes taking her breath away.

"I've never …" she managed, but she was unable to say any more.

"Nor I," he admitted. "Not truly … not like _this."_

He stood from the bed and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her soundly and deeply before turning away to pull down the quilt and sheet on the bed. He moved aside and encouraged her to climb in, which she did as gracefully as she knew how. She took a moment to adjust her gown, its shorter length forcing her to recalculate how to do something she'd done thousands of times over the course of her life. Once settled, she patted the mattress next to her, a clear indication that she was most certainly _not_ willing to remain in that bed alone one second longer.

He climbed in on his knee and she was forced to lie back, as his large frame towered over her. She found herself utterly calm in that moment, completely secure in a way she'd never before felt in her life. She smiled brilliantly, and saw his questioning glance.

She shook her head, startled to find tears pricking the corners of her eyes, and he settled on his side next to her, his head propped up on one hand as the other brushed at her lashes.

"What is it?"

She reached up and brushed her fingertips through his hair once again and whispered, "I have never felt so completely adored as I do in this very moment. Thank you."

"Thank _you._ If not for your gentle encouragement, I fear we'd never have made it here at all."

She smiled again. "Probably not," she acknowledged, and laughter rumbled in his chest.

"I love you so very much," she added, and his eyes crinkled with emotion. "I always have. I'm sorry it took me so long to show you."

But he just shook his head, then leaned over her body once again and pressed his lips to hers.

This kiss was nothing like the others; this was the turning point, the slight shift they'd been building toward over the past many months, many _years,_ even. She readily opened her mouth to accept his love, and gave up trying to control any sounds that escaped. The next moments were made up of whispered adorations, gasps, and moans, sounds neither had ever dared to hope they'd make in their lifetimes.

She shivered as she watched him back up onto his knees before her and lean over to grasp the hem of her nightgown. He paused and she realized she had to tilt her pelvis up a bit, which she did, wiggling slightly as he tugged the fabric out from underneath her bum. She sat up and he paused, waiting for her gentle nod and the raising of her arms before lifting the silk off of her body and tossing it aside onto the floor. He turned his gaze back to her, and his breath left him completely as his eyes took in the full image of her, bared to him in the dim light of the seaside room.

She watched as his mouth opened, then closed a bit, repeatedly. She had a half-second to question, to wonder if he found her wanting in some way, before his hands brushed up her sides, tickling her slightly and making her giggle.

"I've never seen anything so beautiful in all my life," he said, a look of complete and utter adoration on his face.

"Thank you," she said simply and then, before she could stop herself, she grasped at his hands and lay them over her breasts, squeezing his fingers in encouragement for him to do the same.

It was all the permission he needed; as she reclined once again against the pillows he counted his lucky stars that this amazing woman had stood before him only hours before, at the altar in front of all their friends, and agreed to be his wife, agreed to let him worship her body with his own, to care for her all the days of their lives. He caressed and squeezed, trailed kisses and his tongue everywhere he could, relishing the sounds he was bringing forth from her, things he'd never heard even in his most desire-filled dreams. Nothing, _nothing_ could compare to the reality he held now in his hands. He gasped for the millionth time as he felt her hands trail down over his bottom, felt the heat of her fingers through the fabric, remembering once again sitting beside her on the train what seemed like eons ago, wondering how the warmth of her body would feel against his with almost nothing between them.

"Charlie," she breathed, and he stopped, aware that she was trying to move.

"I'm sorry," he managed, and rolled onto his side once again. She turned to face him, their bodies touching, and ghosted her fingers up and down his arm before lowering her mouth to _his_ chest, trailing her hot tongue over his nipple, nipping at it as he growled and she smiled in delight.

Feeling ridiculously wanton and caring not a jot any longer, she got up on her knees beside him and reached for the waistband of his pajama bottoms. She raised an eyebrow and his eyes widened, a question which she answered with a smile and a nod.

"Um, I've … well …" he stammered.

"Got nothing on underneath? Yes, I gathered that." She slipped her fingertips further under the waistband and waited patiently, sitting back on her feet as she tried to control the hurricane of emotion inside her chest.

He lifted his body easily and laid his hands over hers, pushing that last bit of clothing down and over his arousal, which he noted with interest she was studiously avoiding with her eyes for the moment, her eyes trained completely on _his_ as they watched her with adoration. Without breaking her gaze she tossed the pants down toward the foot of the bed; only then did she allow her eyes to trail ever-so-slowly downward, full of appreciation once more for his broad shoulders, the sparse, silver hair that peppered his chest, the slight softness to his abdomen, and …

… _Ohhh …_

He saw her eyes widen with what he mistakenly, for a split second, thought was fear, before realizing it was something very, very different, something that until this very moment he'd never hoped to see in them: _lust._

He sat up, startling her slightly, and grasped her face in his hands, pulling her in for a deep, passionate kiss.

She broke away first, her eyes shimmering with excitement and lust, and murmured, "I hope I've not shocked you, Mr. Carson."

"Actually, Mrs. Carson, you have - in the most amazing, most wonderful of ways."

"May I?" she asked shyly, with a downward flick of her eyes and a tremor he felt in her fingers. He nodded, and she reached slowly down, watching his eyes close and his lips part as she wrapped her hands around him.

She marveled at the softness; she'd not expected that. She'd expected the skin to feel as the rest of his body had felt, but this was something completely new, different. _Silky_ was the word that came to mind, and she felt a surge of pride as she trailed her fingers downward, gently tickling him with her fingertips and making him jerk a bit in her hands.

"Elsie," he groaned, a warning in his voice. "Please," he added. He sat up and forced her hands away from him, then moved her gently aside, laying her on her back. "It's too much," he explained when he noticed the slightly hurt look in her eyes. "I can't …"

"It's alright," she soothed him, her hand on his cheek as she nodded, understanding at last. She licked her lips again, a subconscious act that he found most alluring, and he reached for her drawers, noticing her nod before he'd even managed to ask. He untied the ribbon at her waist and gently pulled them downward, watching as each centimetre of her skin and … more .. was revealed to him.

She saw him close his eyes and swallow as he gathered himself before continuing to dispose of that last vestige of clothing that had been between them, and she felt herself relax completely. She knew once and for all that he found her not wanting, but … _beautiful,_ desirable, and everything else she'd only dared hope she would see in his eyes.

"Come here, love," she whispered, and he settled himself beside her. He leaned over and kissed her softly, gently, barely a brush of his lips on hers as his fingers ghosted a trail up from the inside of her calf up to her thigh. He paused and she nodded, and he continued his gentle kiss as his fingers made their way even higher, finally reaching their soft, warm destination.

She cried out as he touched her, fully unprepared for the almost electric feel of his touch _just there._ She moved, not of her own volition but by some unseen force, squirming underneath his hand as his fingers gently explored this newfound sweetness that would forever be known only to him. He took note of her facial expressions, of what caused her brow to furrow and what caused her breathing to increase, and adjusted his movements accordingly, ever the attentive man with or without the butler's livery. When he found a particularly sensitive place he noticed her breathing increase, felt her fingers leave his arms and move down to grasp the sheets, twisting around the white cotton as she moved beneath his touch. He was wrong, he realized, when he'd said he never had seen anything more beautiful, for as lovely as her newly-disrobed body had been before him then, it was _nothing_ compared to the vision he beheld before him _now._

She couldn't believe the sounds she was making, the feelings coursing through her body at that moment. She was vaguely aware of moaning, of _panting,_ for heaven's sake, yet she couldn't be bothered to care. She had some inclination of pulling at something … _The sheets,_ she realized, and her body writhed below him. She wasn't sure how much more she could take, and then she felt something surge from deep within her, felt her entire body tense, and felt as if her mind simply exploded.

He couldn't tear his eyes from her face, seeing the progression of various stages of passion move across it. And then he noted a particular change in her breathing, felt her tense beneath his hand. He almost stopped what he was doing, fearful that he'd hurt her somehow, before realization dawned and he saw the complete and utter joy come crashing down around her. She keened - he wasn't aware she could even _produce_ such a sound - and he was fairly certain she was unaware of doing so. He slowed his movements as her body relaxed, and smiled as she opened her eyes to gaze once more into his.

"Mm," she tried, swallowing as she realized her mouth was dry, that she was temporarily unable to speak. She saw the fire in his eyes and it drew her the rest of the way back to reality, and she reached her arms up to pull him down. She encouraged him to move over her, and her legs spread apart of their own accord in order to accommodate his body.

He reached down and brushed her hair away from her brow, noting the beads of sweat that had appeared. Her chest was pounding beneath him, and he kissed a trail down her jawline, over her collarbone, and across her breasts once more.

"Charlie," she said, her voice still thick with desire, "please."

He stopped kissing her and settled himself over her body, reaching down to feel her once more as he positioned himself.

"I don't want to you hurt you," he whispered, a brief look of pain marring his features. "I … I am afraid I will."

"Shh," she soothed, him, her fingers brushing over his brow. She smiled at the errant curl, twirling it under her finger. "Don't be afraid, Charlie. Please," she repeated.

It was all he needed. He felt his way with his hand, gasping once again at the velvety smoothness he felt beneath his fingers, and slowly - _agonizingly_ slowly - he slid into the depths of her.

She drew her breath in slowly, aware somehow that it mimicked how she was drawing in his very body. She'd never imagined any such feeling existing on earth, this feeling of utter completeness, the sensation that she could physically stretch in such a way as to accommodate another person's presence; she reached her arms up and held tightly to him, silently bidding him to stop moving once he was fully buried inside of her.

"Are you alright, love?" he whispered, and she nodded, reaching her lips up to kiss his shoulder - a hot, open-mouthed kiss as her tongue caressed the skin there.

"Yes," she breathed. "But … I just …" She felt tears pool in the corners of her eyes again, and he heard the hitch in her words.

He lifted his head and kissed at her tears. "Complete," he murmured, and she nodded.

"Yes."

Then he smiled, remembering. "Elsie?"

She tilted her head.

"I love you, too," he whispered, and he began to move slightly.

She felt him pull slowly out only to slide back in, and she picked up on the rhythm almost effortlessly, yet another way in which they had somehow, wondrously, always been in sync with one another. It was something she'd wondered about since they'd cleared the air surrounding the details of their marriage: whether or not their ease with one another, the way they'd always completed one another's thoughts and anticipated one another's needs, would transcend to the marital bed as well.

She should never have questioned, really.

She felt that sensation from before building again, but somehow this time it was _deeper_ , more intense, than it had been that first time - something she'd not have thought possible.

He felt the change in her, managed by some miracle to slow his movements ever so slightly and look into her eyes. He found the thing he was searching for immediately and leaned forward, capturing her lips with his before speeding his movements up again, the slight shift he'd made to reach her lips changing the angle ever so slightly, making all the difference as she tightened all around him - inside, outside, her legs, her arms, her fingertips, the press of her mouth against his - and she fell over the edge once again, with him following immediately behind.

She felt the warm surge from his body as he shuddered inside of her, felt the tremble of his muscles as she pressed her fingers into his back and virtually shouted into his mouth; he exhaled loudly and barely managed to keep from collapsing on top of her, falling slightly to her side, his arm shaking and heavy where it rested across her abdomen.

It seemed to take her forever to catch her breath, and she turned her head to find him staring at her.

"Well," he gasped, and she giggled - a sound he'd never heard her make in all their years together, not until tonight, and one which he knew would become increasingly dear to him in the future.

"Well," she replied, her lip trapped under her teeth once again. "I must say, if you'd asked me six months ago, I'd never in a million years have thought we'd end up quite like _this."_

"Oh?" he questioned, lifting his head up to rest it once again on his hand, his elbow digging into the pillow beside her. "Ye of little faith."

Her sharp laughter startled him, and he smiled adoringly at her as he trailed his fingers up and down her side, brushing the side of her breast in a tender, loving manner. He saw for the first time the pucker of the scar that resided there, and a brief flash of pain crossed his face.

"Charlie … don't," she murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek. She brushed her thumb across his cheek, felt the tear that escaped his eye.

"I just …" He shook his head, unable to put words to his thoughts, and she nodded.

"I know, but it's fine now."

"I could have lost you; we would never have had this," he managed, squeezing her gently within his grasp. "I'd never have forgiven myself."

She pulled him down for a tender kiss, then encouraged him to rest his head on her breast as she ran her fingers gently through his mussed hair.

"Shh," she soothed him, feeling herself begin to nod off, feeling thoroughly spent in an entirely new way. "It's alright."

He nodded and drew in a deep, gasping breath. He placed a kiss to her heart then lay his head against her once again, and they promptly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The sunlight peeked in the window and Elsie opened her eyes slowly, squinting at the wall as she attempted to guess the time. She heard Charlie's soft breaths beside her, realizing he'd shifted at some point in the night, that he'd somehow managed to roll over and cocoon her in his arms. It was a rather wonderful place to be, she thought.

She stayed like that for a few more moments, enjoying the feel of him wrapped all around her, before slowly extricating herself from his arms and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, thankfully attentive enough to realize she'd need a moment to gather some strength. She smiled when she felt the ache in her legs, the crying out of muscles that she was fairly certain she'd never used before in her life. She stood slowly, holding onto the bed post to support herself until she was convinced she'd be able to walk without assistance. She made her way to the loo, and came back with a glassful of water in hand, having downed one and a half for herself before she realized her husband would likely require some hydration as well.

"Hello," he whispered, his voice thick with sleepiness as he smiled softly at her.

"Good morning," she murmured, sitting on his edge of the bed as she placed the glass on the nightstand before turning back to him. She leaned over and kissed his forehead. "Sleep well?"

"Like the dead," he admitted. "Must be something to do with my precious wife," he added, reaching out to clasp her hand in his, bringing her fingers to his lips and kissing them softly.

"Perhaps," she allowed. "Are you going back to sleep?"

He shook his head and sat up slowly, and she handed him the water.

"Drink that," she insisted. "You'll need it. I'd like to take a bath, if you want to nip in there before I do so."

"I'm fine, actually," he said. "Go ahead."

He watched her retreating, unclothed form, grateful that she'd not become shy and reserved in front of him now that the room was bathed in light. He saw her turn and she smiled at him, a warm, open love in her eyes just before she disappeared behind the door.

His own muscles groaned in retaliation as he got out of bed, moving about the room and gathering up their discarded nightclothes. He shook his head, a feeling of pride blooming in his chest as he replayed the past night's activities in his mind. He'd been so afraid of not pleasing her, of causing her pain and, even more so, of being a disappointment to her. He remembered her own fears about that very thing, and wondered how either of them could ever have been so foolish.

He folded her gown gently and placed it in the wardrobe, then followed suit with his own pajama top. He slipped the bottoms on and straightened the bed sheets a bit, knowing the maid service would be in during the afternoon when they stepped out, and understanding without asking that Elsie wouldn't want their bed to be found in _quite_ that condition, honeymoon or not.

He heard the water draining from her bath as he gathered his clothing and set it out on the bed, choosing his suit for the day and wondering what she'd be picking out to wear. They'd planned to have breakfast at the hotel, then get out and see something of the seaside town. The weather looked promising, and he felt a lightness in his step that had most certainly not been there at this time yesterday.

The door opened and he looked up, spotting his wife wrapped tightly in a luxurious towel, her hair damp as it hung about her shoulders.

She saw him standing there, staring at her, looking absolutely divine in his pajama bottoms and bare chest. She took a few steps over to him and reached up for his cheek, bringing his face down into a delightful kiss.

"You look rather dashing, Mr. Carson," she said lightly.

"You look rather … amazing, Mrs. Carson," he murmured. "I suddenly find myself not wanting to leave this room."

"Well," she hedged, "we don't have to see _much_ of the town."

She raised her hand to the towel's knot and, quite brazenly, loosened it and let the terrycloth drop to the floor. She backed away from her husband with fire in her eyes as he removed the pajama bottoms once again and sat on the bed, positioned himself against the headboard, and beckoned for her to sit astride his lap.

"Are you sure?" she asked hesitantly. "I mean … can we?"

"Oh, yes," he murmured, reaching his hands around her waist as he held her body her over his. "We most certainly can."

She placed her hands on his shoulders and lifted herself, moved slightly to position herself better, and gasped when his lips found her breast once again. Her eyes fluttered shut and she whispered, something Gaelic that he couldn't quite make out.

"Elsie," he moaned, and the vibration of his lips against her nipple almost sent her over the edge. She opened her eyes and stared into his, lowering herself slowly over him and tightening her fingers around his shoulders as he gasped in delight.

* * *

Four days later, the Carsons were seated on the train once again, hurtling back to Downton, back to what Elsie kept thinking of as their 'old life.' She reached over and took her husband's hand in her own and tucked her body a bit closer to his, caught his smile, and winked at him.

Across from them sat a single gentleman who paid them no mind at all. The rest of the car was empty and so they traveled in silence, partially a result from not wanting to be overheard and partially because they were so adept at sharing their feelings without saying a word.

When the train arrived at its final destination, Charles rose from his seat and extended his hand to his wife, assisting her as she stood and adjusted her hat.

"Back to reality," she said a touch too brightly, and he smiled.

"Yes, but it will be an entirely _new_ reality for us. The cottage is ready, our things have been moved. I'm rather looking forward to stopping by the Abbey to see everyone and then retiring early to our new home."

"Are you now? And have you any plans for the evening, Charlie?"

He tugged on her hand, pulling her body tightly against his own, kissing her temple and murmuring, "Oh, yes, Elsie … I do, indeed."

They held hands in the back of the car on the way to the Abbey, and Elsie felt her cheeks flush as she reflected back on their activities of the past week.

"They're all going to _know,_ Charles," she realized with stark clarity. "They're going to _see_ it."

"They're going to see their two heads of staff returning from a beautiful honeymoon, and they're going to greet us politely and then scurry off to their responsibilities," he corrected her. "Our _friends_ will see it, and _they_ will be nothing but happy for us."

"Perhaps," she allowed, already dreading Beryl's smirk and the knowing look she felt would be coming from Anna.

As they entered the servants' hall they were met by a rousing round of applause, something much grander than either of them ever expected, and Charles was shocked to look around the room and see not only the entire staff but also the entire family, including - _it can't be_ \- the Dowager herself. _Heavens, she's not been down here in decades!_

Elsie turned as a cup of punch was placed in her hand. Her head was spinning with the noise of the room, which was familiar in so many ways and yet so far removed from the quiet of their honeymoon, of the four days when she'd heard precious few voices except her husband's, days during which he was the one and only thing to which she'd needed pay attention. And pay attention to him she _had,_ most definitely.

There was some confusion about addressing her by her proper name, but she and Charles had anticipated that and he dealt with it seamlessly as she looked on with pride. He approached her once everyone's attentions seemed to have moved on to other conversations and told her he wanted a moment upstairs. She'd smiled and nodded, reveling in the closeness of his body, a closeness he'd not have allowed before they were married. She knew he couldn't wait to leave the party entirely, and the thought that he was so anxious to leave the precious Abbey to spend time alone with his wife put her absolutely over the moon.

Elsie turned to find Beryl, her long-time friend and their staunchest supporter over these past many months, standing by her side.

"At first, I thought you didn't look like yourself when you walked through that door," Beryl muttered quietly, so that only Elsie would hear.

"No? How do you mean?"

"You're different now, aren't you? I mean, _they_ won't have noticed - well, perhaps Anna, and maybe her Ladyship - but none of the rest. But I was wrong."

"I should hope so," Elsie said.

Beryl smiled at her. "What I've just realized is that you are _more_ yourself _now_ that I think I've ever seen you. You've a … I don't know, exactly … something about you that seems more calm, more … assured."

Elsie blushed, but nodded. "I'll take that as a compliment," she said. "I can tell you this - I've never been happier."

"No," Beryl replied softly, a kind smile on her face, "I don't doubt that at all."

Charles returned from the attics and approached the two women, having eyes only for his wife as he brushed her fingers with his.

He looked into her eyes, saw the thing he'd become so accustomed to seeing in them ever since the day they'd arrived in Scarborough: a shift, something infinitesimal, but something which whispered one thing to him, a new constant, a new focus for the remainder of his days: _Home._

"Ready?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Off with you, then," Beryl said, shooing them with her hands. "And we'll see you in the morning."

Charles turned to look at the cook, one of his oldest friends and the woman to whom he owed a great debt, indeed.

"Thank you," he said simply, and she heard all of the unsaid words behind it.

"Anytime, Mr. Carson," Beryl murmured, catching Elsie's smile and returning it. "Anytime."

* * *

 _ **Whew! Happy Valentine's Day to you all! If you have a moment, I'd love a little review to hear what you thought. xx**_


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